


Whipping Boy

by Kantayra



Series: Yukimura/Sanada Dom/sub 'Verse [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: BDSM, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-02
Updated: 2009-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yukimura faces his own punishment after losing in Nationals...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whipping Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Punishment](http://community.livejournal.com/kantayra_fic/42193.html).

The locker rooms were empty now, with the tournament over and most of the teams off celebrating. The tiles echoed with Sanada’s footsteps, sounding like the entire world was devoid of human life. Sanada pushed open the door to the last room, however, and there he found one other soul.

Yukimura sat, in the direct center of the bench, staring blankly at the line of lockers in front of him. He still hadn’t changed out of his uniform, and his jersey once again hung limply over his shoulders. He didn’t react as Sanada approached.

“Captain?” Sanada asked warily.

Yukimura didn’t so much as blink.

Sanada lowered himself onto the bench beside Yukimura. “Seiichi.” He hesitated and then reached over to cover Yukimura’s hand with his own.

Slowly, Yukimura came out of his daze, looking down in surprise at the point of human contact. “Genichiro?” he whispered in surprise.

Sanada grunted. He wanted to do something stupid, like ask if Yukimura was all right or wrap his arms around him and never let go. Instead, he settled for fixing the lockers before them with his sternest look.

“I…” Yukimura breathed. Sanada had never heard him sound so bewildered. “I…lost.” Yukimura’s face twisted with distaste, like the word was toxic to him.

“You were magnificent, as you always are,” Sanada assured him.

Yukimura scowled at him, and Sanada was relieved to see the hint of Yukimura’s usual self. “Don’t patronize me. I was completely defeated. It was _revolting_.” He shuddered and pulled his jersey tighter around his body.

Sanada had never been more jealous of that jersey. “Would you like to play me?” he offered. He had no doubt that he’d be humiliated as much as he always was when he practiced with Yukimura. Perhaps beating someone else into submission would cheer Yukimura up.

“I don’t think so.” Yukimura looked away. “I don’t deserve…” He choked on the words that he’d forced onto so many different lips in the past. But then he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I deserve to be punished,” he concluded with finality.

Sanada’s eyes widened. “Seiichi, don’t.” For some reason, those words sent a shock of deep-seated panic through him, as if his entire world were collapsing.

“I refuse to be a hypocrite.” Yukimura stood suddenly and cast off his jersey. “You’ll do it, I trust? After all, you won your match. You at least deserve this honor.” He stripped his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside.

Sanada gaped at the sight of Yukimura’s body. He still looked a bit too slender – too _weak_ – from his hospitalization. Angry red and white lines from Yukimura’s surgical scar crisscrossed over his side, marking where a chink had been brutally cut from Yukimura’s carefully constructed armor. Sanada still found him impossibly beautiful, however, no matter what his condition. “I…”

“Will you take me here or in the showers, do you think?” Yukimura considered as he shimmied out of his tennis shorts and jockstrap. He stood before Sanada, fully naked and exposed. “It’s your choice.”

Sanada couldn’t bear to see him like that all of a sudden. “No,” he said firmly for what felt like the first time in his life.

Yukimura turned sharply to look at him in surprise. “What did you say?” he asked dangerously.

“No,” Sanada repeated, “I won’t let you. Please…”

Yukimura’s expression turned puzzled.

“Please,” Sanada reached for his hand, “let me take it for you.” He pressed his forehead to the back of Yukimura’s hand.

“Genichiro?” Yukimura seemed genuinely taken aback for a moment.

“This is my duty,” Sanada concluded confidently. “I will take your punishment.”

Slowly, a smile curved Yukimura’s lips. “Of course,” he finally agreed. “How silly of me to think otherwise.”

The barest trace of a smile graced Sanada’s features, too, as his world was restored to its proper order. If he could do nothing else for Yukimura, at least he could offer this. Of course, then he remembered the not-so-subtle implication of what Yukimura had thought his punishment should be.

“Why are you still wearing clothing?” Yukimura asked curiously, stepping directly in front of Sanada so that Sanada got quite an eyeful. “Don’t keep me waiting, Genichiro.”

Yukimura was definitely coming back to himself again. Sanada chucked aside his clothing quickly in response. It was quite a relief, in a way. For a while there, Yukimura had looked _genuinely_ fragile. It had scared Sanada, reminded him too much of Yukimura’s illness.

“The showers, I think,” Yukimura decided, padding off naked in that direction. “Do you know that I still haven’t properly cooled down yet? So silly of me.”

Sanada half tripped over his underwear, trying to get out of them and follow after Yukimura.

“Is there a reason you’re so abysmally slow?” Yukimura’s voice wafted back to him as the water started running.

Sanada scrambled after him in a thoroughly undignified manner.

When he arrived at the showers, his breath caught at the sight of Yukimura under the spray of water, reaching up to wash the excess shampoo out of his hair. Trails of white suds curled down Yukimura’s delicate body, rounding taut muscles and pale skin before finally pooling at his feet and swirling down the drain. The steam from the hot shower caressed his body, making him look even softer than usual.

For one moment, Sanada regretted giving up his once-in-a-lifetime chance to take that body himself. He had little doubt as to whether Yukimura would ever offer himself up on a platter again.

“Don’t dawdle,” Yukimura scolded. “You’re only making your punishment that much worse.”

Sanada stepped into the hot steam. He felt awkward about the whole thing, like Yukimura was trying too hard to cover up for his own failure. Clearly, Sanada wasn’t doing his job well enough, if that was the case.

“Give it to me,” he requested softly, stopping when his and Yukimura’s bare chests were only inches apart. “Whatever you think I deserve. I can take it.” His fingers ghosted over Yukimura’s sides, ignoring the scar there. To Sanada, it didn’t exist. Yukimura was perfect and powerful, through and through, and Sanada would be his loyal vassal until the day he died.

A warm, confusing emotion clenched in Sanada’s chest at the thought. This was the ultimate test. _This_ , Sanada thought, _even this, I will do for you. This is how pure, how deep my devotion is._ He met Yukimura’s gaze steadily, trying to convey all that he couldn’t say.

Yukimura nodded slowly. “Bend over and brace yourself against the wall.”

Sanada fought against the trembling in his body and did as Yukimura ordered.

“I’ve heard soap will work,” Yukimura informed him idly, “although I’ve never tried it. I didn’t plan for…this disappointment, though, so it will have to do.”

Sanada closed his eyes at Yukimura’s hesitation. Had Sanada actually been the one to lose, Yukimura wouldn’t have minced his words at all: _your_ disappointment. “It’s fine,” he agreed gruffly.

Sanada felt Yukimura’s hands on him then, light and fleeting. He gasped as one palm finally cupped his ass. A part of him was far too eager for this. Yukimura hadn’t allowed anything intimate to happen between them since he’d disciplined Sanada after Regionals. Sanada had been aching for Yukimura’s displeasure – or was it pleasure? – ever since.

Yukimura stepped between his parted thighs and slowly spread his ass cheeks. Sanada’s fingers curled against the slippery tiles as he felt a finger probe his sensitive entrance. The water beat down on his back, hot and hard, and he tried to force himself to relax.

“Rikkaidai lost,” Yukimura said slowly, almost in a daze. He smeared the liquid soap over Sanada and then, slowly, pushed one finger inside. Sanada clenched and fought him for a moment, before he gave in and accepted Yukimura’s invasion. “My three-year plan has been completely ruined.” The finger thrust slowly in and out of Sanada’s body.

Sanada hissed at the sensation. There was something so very wrong about having something inside him like that. It was embarrassing and vulnerable and…

Yukimura forced another finger inside. “Do you like that, bitch?” he asked serenely.

Sanada swore and grunted against the wall. Yukimura’s fingers twisted inside him, and Sanada didn’t know whether it was because he was a masochist or this was actually _good_ , but suddenly he was hard.

“Hmm, I think you do,” Yukimura’s voice cooed against the back of his ear as he leaned over to cover Sanada’s muscular body with his smaller one. “I think you want it.” His fingers slipped in and out of Sanada several times before suddenly they were gone.

Sanada could hear Yukimura fumbling with something behind him. He wasn’t naïve; he knew what was coming.

“There’s a good little whore,” Yukimura said harshly, and Sanada felt something hard and slick and long slide between his ass cheeks. “I want you to say it for me,” Yukimura continued conversationally, like this situation was no different from the two of them sharing lunch. “I want you to say that you’re my bitch.”

Sanada gritted his teeth and forced himself to spit out, “I’m your bitch!”

“You’re an eager whore, yes?”

“I’m an eager whore,” Sanada agreed.

“And a loser, of course.”

“A complete loser. An absolute failure.”

“And you want my cock?”

“More than anything,” Sanada breathed.

“Even though…?” Yukimura prompted.

Sanada blanked for a moment because the feeling of Yukimura teasing his hole was almost unbearable. Finally, however, the point came to him. “Even though I don’t deserve it!” he begged.

“You _don’t_ deserve it,” Yukimura hissed angrily, and he thrust inside.

It burned. Sanada was pretty sure he let out a hoarse scream in response to being penetrated this violently. When he came back to himself, though, he found that if he concentrated on the pain, meditated hard and deliberately pushed it aside, it receded just enough.

“You’re a failure,” Yukimura hissed, his voice breaking on the words. “A pitiful failure.” He pulled halfway out only to ram his way back inside.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sanada hissed in agreement.

“How could you do this to me?” Yukimura snarled angrily.

“I’m sorry.” Sanada propped himself more firmly against the wall and _took_ Yukimura’s tirade.

“Y-You betrayed me!” Yukimura shouted.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Sanada’s whole body reverberated with Yukimura’s rhythmic thrusts, and he found himself growing hard again.

“I… I _hate you_!” Yukimura’s voice broke into a sob at the end, and it was suddenly very clear that Sanada wasn’t the one Yukimura was really screaming at.

“Forgive me,” Sanada begged, for Yukimura’s own peace of mind. “Please, forgive me.”

“I… I can’t…” Yukimura gasped raggedly.

“ _Please_ , Seiichi, forgive me…” _Forgive yourself._

“I… I…” Yukimura’s thrusts were turning wild and erratic. His fingers raked down Sanada’s arms, and his teeth sunk into the skin over Sanada’s shoulder blade.

Finally, there was a gasp, a shudder, and Yukimura went still.

Sanada breathed heavily beneath him, and slowly his awareness spread to the rest of the world again. His arms were still braced hard against the unyielding tile, and hot water pounded down on them.

“I…forgive you,” Yukimura finally whispered, so softly that Sanada could barely hear it over the sound of water against tile. He pulled back out almost gently, reverently.

Sanada sighed in relief, although he didn’t try to stand up yet. His muscles still burned from Yukimura’s intrusion. “Thank you, my captain,” his said, surprised at how relieved his voice sounded.

“A-Are you…?” Yukimura’s hands suddenly turned light on him, caressing his back, checking below (for blood, Sanada presumed).

“I’ll take care of it and come back to you when I’m done,” Sanada said matter-of-factly, like this hadn’t been different from any other punishment.

“Yes,” Yukimura agreed, a bit of the authority returning to his voice, “you do that.” He hesitated for only a second before leaving Sanada behind in the shower.

Sanada took stock of himself for a second before slowly pushing back up off the wall. His lower back screamed in protest. He turned his back to the spray and let the water wash away their sins. After a minute or so of that, all that remained of the pain was a dull ache.

He was still hard. He had been throughout the whole ordeal, actually. He decided there were no maybes about it; he was definitely something of a masochist. Fortunately for him, Yukimura was a sadist, so it all worked out.

Concentrating on the faint throbbing in his ass, he touched himself and moaned aloud as he sought his release. The acoustics in the shower carried every sound to the locker rooms, he knew. For once, he let himself be as loud as he could in his pleasure, so that there was no mistaking it. He spilled his orgasm over the tiles with Yukimura’s name a fervent supplication on his lips.

Afterwards, he kept the water on for a few more minutes. He had a feeling he was going to be in agony tomorrow. Finally, however, he turned off the water, toweled off, and returned to the locker room. There, he found Yukimura fully dressed in his street clothes once more. He was towel-drying his hair. Sanada watched for a moment, mesmerized, as the wet locks curled tightly around Yukimura’s head, only to be brushed ever straighter by the drying motion of the towel.

“Get dressed,” Yukimura ordered him tersely, all business again.

Sanada nodded and slowly pulled up his pants.

“I am forced to conclude,” Yukimura said slowly, glancing back in the mirror to see Sanada wince slightly when he sat back down on the bench, “that that Echizen is no ordinary first-year.”

Sanada grunted in acknowledgment, although inwardly he was quite pleased that his captain finally understood. He toed his shoes on without even trying to bend over; he’d rather walk with untied laces than try.

“I suppose we’ll just have to destroy him,” Yukimura concluded, wrapping his towel around his neck.

“Nationals are over,” Sanada reminded him. He tried to reach for his shirt without straining his back where Yukimura had left his bite mark in Sanada’s skin.

Yukimura breezed over to him and picked the shirt up off the floor. “Stand up and raise your arms,” he ordered.

Sanada was only too eager to comply. It seemed that sitting was going to be an issue for the next few days.

Yukimura slid the shirt onto Sanada and began buttoning up the front with great care. “There’s more to life than just Nationals,” Yukimura said. “We will meet him again, and we will _destroy_ him.”

“Yes,” Sanada agreed with a hint of a smile.

Yukimura patted Sanada’s chest when he finished. “Come, then, Genichiro. We have a lot of practicing to do. Tennis should cheer us up, yes?” He flashed a brilliant, sweet smile.

Sanada tried not to wince _too_ much and followed after him.


End file.
